Wonderwall
by Revok
Summary: We stay like that until nightfall, looking at each other like our eyes are daring us but our bodies don't dare betray us. Darcy x Manny.
1. Pieces

**A/N:** I've been dying to write this since the premiere.

**Wonderwall**

Ch. 1

_If you'd believe it's in my soul,  
I'd say all the words that I know_

The uncomfortable silence is forcing me to shift slightly in the way too soft cushion. I find myself staring at the dull shine of my nails as I feel her eyes bore into the top of my head. My face is bowed, my sidebangs falling into my eyes as my eyes flicker to the fresh bandage assaulting my wrist. It shouldn't be there. I shouldn't be here. I hear the tapping of a pen against a clipboard, and a click of it signalling the scrawling of note thereafter. Forcing myself to look up at the sound of her voice, she says my time is up. I nod and make my way out into the halls of Degrassi, the sound of my footsteps echoing as I hurry to get to class.

"Are you okay?" The soft tone makes me jump, and I swallow the bile back into my throat as an arm graces itself around my waist.

The frantic beating of my heart is betraying my will to stay calm. _Swallow, breathe._ I repeat the mantra inside my head effortlessly. I ease myself out of his caring arms, finding myself murmuring some noise of acknowledgement. He nods and looks at me with concern and love reflected in his eyes.

He waves and looks back at me while I continue down the tiles, counting which ones gave dried gum on them as I go along to properly distract myself. The downside of this being I'm not looking where I'm going, and collide clumsily with the new cheerleader on the squad. Holly, I think her name was. She twists her face into a scowl and steps forward to invade my space. On a normal occasion I would have stepped even further, but it's not a normal occasion. It hasn't been for a while now. I hang my head and murmur an apology. "The slut is apologizing, alert the media," she laughs, and I flinch as she leans in to slap me.

I shut my eyes and await the blow. It doesn't happen. Instead, a body intervenes and places itself in front of me. Shielding me. I open my eyes and see a head of soft, dark locks. I know her eyes are glaring harshly at our teammate, full of hate and anger. I'm glad I'm not on the receiving end.

"Say another word and it'll be my fist colliding with that pretty little nose of yours," she says with venom,"Which, by the way, your plastic surgeon missed an important bump." With slight amusement I watch her stalk away, defeated as she raises a hand delicately along her nose in self conscience. My defender turns and faces me; I flinch and wait for her to touch my arm or hug me, something. It doesn't come. "We should get to class," she suggests softly, picking up my books from the floor and looking at me expectantly.

I follow, because I'm still unsure of what just happened. I feel I should thank her somehow, but I every time I open my mouth no noise comes out. Closing my mouth stupidly, I settle into my seat and feel her putting down her bag next to me. I tug at the sleeves of my jacket to cover my wrist, feeling as if the entire class knows. I'm not my usual, bubbly self. Someone saw me coming out of the counselor's office. Someone saw me drunk. Someone put two and two together. They know. I feel their eyes on me and I feel my chest contract as I struggle to breathe. My breathing is quickening in pace.

I see her open her hand tentatively between our seats. Not out on the desk in the open, not close enough as to threaten my newfound phobia of touch. I stare at it, and I know she's the only one not looking at me. Her eyes are directed over at the computer screen, looking over at today's agenda while everyone wonders what the hell happened to me. My hand reaches out to her open palm; I'm shaking. My body defies me at the last second, jerking my fingers away and back into the comfort of my pocket. I want to apologize, but again I can't talk. She returns her hand into her lap, not looking at me but holding the most gentlest of looks I've ever seen. "It's okay," she whispers just loud enough to hear. Needing to talk, I open my mouth again yet to be drowned out by the instructor's voice calling out role. I sink back in my seat dejectedly and settle on staring at her hand, just moments before opened to me.

My name is Darcy Edwards and my world has turned upside down.


	2. Brace Yourself

**AN:** I present the next chapter because I have insomnia and you guys are cool reviewers.

Ch. 2

_So you feel everything and everything should be  
All that you wanted _

Four periods down, I attempt at consoling myself. I wasn't entirely left to fend off questioning looks and bitchier cheerleaders by myself, either; Manny, Emma, Peter, Spin... they were all there. I scuff my shoes along the ground and wait for the girl in front of me to get out of the way of my locker. She turns and it's spotlight on me all over again. "You're Darcy Edwards, aren't you?" Silence. "Weren't you the one found attempting suicide?" A blank stare toward the floor. "You've got a perfect life, why would you do that?" At this I make a choking sound, blinking back furiously.

"Off the topic and if you ever mention it again, you and your fellow freshman will be sorry," a voice growls roughly, and I make sure my eyes aren't watering before I look up to see Spinner staring down my short opponent. She ducks hurriedly out of our way before Spinner looks at me cautiously.

"Darce," he begins, using his nickname for me since we were dating,"I... the others are waiting for you." I nod mutely, forgetting entirely about putting my books away as I dodge around him and other students and head off to the cafeteria. I can't even wonder what he was going to say, too preoccupied with trying to find a safe haven in these halls I used to call my sanctuary away from home.

I feel the stares as my pace quickens in a fast walk, hurrying to sit down with the rest of my friends. _Swallow, breathe_. I repeat again inside my head, feeling heads turned toward me and eyes on me. I can't do this, I cannot do this. "Never seen a girl before? Stop staring and get back to lunch!" Peter shouts jealously at the males staring for probably an entirely different reason. I wouldn't know why, though. I haven't been wearing the same fitted clothing. It's usually jeans and an oversized hoodie for me these days. I refuse to aid myself in being noticed.

"Losers at 12 o'clock, group of five," a younger tone that's all too familiar from earlier today nearing us. Four faces turn and stand tall against Holly; I'm sitting and prodding at my apple with a plastic spoon, feeling small. She scoffs and slams her palms onto the table just inches away from my plate, and I shiver as her hot breath tickles at my ears. "No one knows what the fuck happened to you, but does it really matter? Keep it up, Ms. Mute, and I'll be cheer captain in no time."

And just like that, her hand pushes my lunch tray onto my lap, soaking through my hoodie and causing me to cry out in discomfort. Before I can even process her harsh, barklike laughter I notice two heads of blonds grabbing onto her arms to relocate her somewhere else. Emma and Spin. At the same time, Peter and Manny both lean over to remove the worst of what's coloring my _white_ jacket. I notice the difference of their hands in that moment.

Peter's hands move quickly and successfully, slightly calloused yet welcoming all the same. He's brushing my hoodie as he works to remove food, and even at that I start trembling. Manny, on the other hand, doesn't even skim the top of the fabric as she picks off small pieces that my boyfriend had missed. I watch them both. Peter's eyes are narrowed as if he's thinking of a way to get back at Holly; Manny's face is concentrated solely on me, biting her bottom lip in that way I know she's completely absorbed in whatever she's doing. I don't feel the spotlight anymore even though I know it's still there. All I notice are the two people in front of me.

Before I have time to contemplate about what that means, Manny grabs my backpack and books while Peter looks expectantly at me. I stand up and follow both their leads back into the empty hall, our mixed footsteps matching the erratic beating of my heart. We stop in front of the girls' restroom, and Peter wraps his arms around me in an embrace. I stiffen at first, but slowly I start to relax and place my arms loosely at his waist. Progress, I think. "I'm sorry that witch did that to you," he murmurs in my hair, and my eyes dart around the floor. Still mute, I notice. I don't notice, though, the slight trembling of my body. Manny does, though, and I feel him reluctantly pull away from me as she opens the door for me. I enter inside without looking back at him.

"We should probably get that off of you unless you want to go around smelling of applesauce and mashed potatoes," she attempts at light humor, and I see her eyes light up with the slight twitching of my mouth. It feels good to smile. I nod in agreement, peeling the still damp garment off of me. I'm wearing nothing but a tank top underneath, the jacket being my only source of warmth. She knows, too, as I see her strip off her hoodie and hand it to me. I look at her, confused.

"Longsleeves are my friend," Manny brushes off my silent question, directing toward her better choosing of clothing than mine. I pull the black hoodie over my body and I'm surprised to see how well it forms around my body. I'm enveloped in the scent of cinnamon and slight vanilla as I inhale deeply, not knowing if it's her perfume or just her. "Perfect fit," Manny interrupts my thoughts, sounding content and something else I can't place. I look at her, and I inhale again. Not for her scent, but for something else I'm about to do. I reach out and squeeze her hand softly before releasing her hold. It would do, as I see her face change from curiousity to wondrous amazement.

"Thank you." I manage to speak for the first time today.


	3. Lemon

**A/N:** I'm on a writing roll.

_And starving hurts the soul  
When you're hungry for some love_

I look out into the sky from my window, knowing my sister has fallen asleep and my parents wouldn't be back until the early morning. Off to some party for the well-off, I think. Tapping my pencil against my notebook, I'm disrupted by the sound of a pebble pelting the glass of the window. Before it permanently scratches, I duck my head out and see Peter with a radio by his side with the outside snow shoveled away from the cold pavement. He mouths for me to come down, and I grab a scarf to accent to my turtleneck. Slipping on worn sneakers, I make my way over to him and raise an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Ever since..." I frown and he quickly corrects himself. "We haven't really had a night together in a long time," Peter tries again, dirty blond hair falling casually over his forehead,"I wanted to show you I'm still here." I feel a pang of guilt knowing I can't answer him as he shuffles his shoes along some stray snow. I grab his hand like I did Manny's earlier today, squeezing it a little as he looks up at me and flashes a bright smile.

He moves to turn on the radio and I hear the sound of some soft music fall into the space between us. Still holding into my hand, he looks questioningly at me to see if I'm comfortable. I remind myself that he's my boyfriend before nodding and allowing him to place his arms around my waist. I swallow any nerves collecting in the back of my throat. He wouldn't hurt me. He's my boyfriend. My loving, caring, concerned boyfriend.

I move awkwardly in the pace of the music, inching myself closer to him in an attempt to ease the gap. Placing a kiss on the top of my head, I hear him murmur to take it slow and that I shouldn't be forced to rush anything. I feel hollow and cold with his words that any other girl would die to hear. Had I really changed him that much from who he used to be? From over Peter's shoulders, I stare at a lonely patch of snow in the middle of the driveway, watching mist rise from it as it slowly chills into the air.

Something tells me this is where I'm supposed to belong. In the arms of the boy who loves me. At least, I think he does. He's never said it to me as far as I know, but I don't think I'm far off from the truth in saying so. I can see it in his eyes. And, Lord help me up above, I silently pray that my eyes are reflecting the same. They have to. It's all that I know and if I'm wrong I don't know anything at all.

I'm no longer gawky with my movements, steadily stepping to the music on the radio. With the dim light of the moon and streetlights looking like hazy fireflies in our moment, and the song justifying every step we make, I recognize comfort. I recognize his familiar murmurs of affection and the hands draped around me. I know this feeling. I know this familiarity.

But when he kisses me goodnight and I head back upstairs to collapse onto my bed, I lie awake wondering if familiarity is what I need right now. The vibration of my phone jolts me from my questions, and I duck a hand under my pillow to retrieve it before holding it in my palm. Shame spreads through me as I don't think I'll be able to hold a decent conversation. I've refused to speak unless absolutely forced to, and it's far too rare to see me talk in my own will. I figure it's Peter checking up on me or for one last goodnight, so I don't check and just make a small sound of recognition into the phone.

"I had a feeling you were still awake." It's her.

"Peter came by." I answer shortly, not out of opposition, but because I can't stand the way my voice sounds. Scratchy, raspy, and low. I blame myself for never using it. I listen as she mutters that it's good I got some alone time with him, echoing what Peter said himself just a while ago. Tuning out slightly, I shift in bed and look around. Spotting what I was looking for, I placed the phone down for a moment as I slipped on the black hoodie over me. Bathing in the scent again, I pick up the phone and place it to my ear just to listen to the end of her sentence.

"... so Holly's not much of a pretty sight at the moment." I smile at the thought, not even needing to request the beginning of her speech. The result was good enough for me. I settle back comfortably into my bed and slide the covers over myself, as all I can hear now is her voice. It's enough.

But the uncomfortable silence makes me worry I've disappointed her like I have so many others. The squad, my parents, the counselor, the friendship club. I can't dignify them with responses, as much as I plead with my will to let me do so. The hoodie covers my wrist well, but a strip of bandage peeks its head out and glares at me through the night. My eyelids flutter to a close as I can't stand seeing the bright white contrast with the black of her hoodie, nestling my head against the pillow as I adjust myself better.

"Darcy?" The name sounds so foreign, and it's only because it's her that I know she's addressing me. "Mm?" I manage to say sleepily, and I can tell she's smiling on the other end at how childlike I probably sound. "You know how when you're little, sometimes you have the perfect day?" Her voice is far away and I can tell she's reminiscing. "Like, I remember my perfect day when I was seven. It was the day before Christmas vacation let out at recess. I fell from the jungle gym in surprise right when snow started to fall from the sky, though to be fair I'd never seen snow before and I wasn't used to jungle gyms then. I was so mad because I wanted to play outside. When I got home with my arm in a cast my dad spent the entire day home from work playing with me in the front yard while my mom made grilled cheese sandwiches and cocoa for dinner." She clears her throat at the memory, tears springing up temporarily that she moves to wipe away. "It wasn't really a perfect day, I guess, but a perfect moment with my family."

I have to smile softly though, at the thought of a small Manny being in her first snowfall. I remember my perfect memory as a child, too. It was my first trip to the beach... well, a public one. My parents insisted on a private one but I had to have my way. I spent the entire day making friends with the other kids and got a sunburn the next day. It was well worth it, I fell asleep in content on the ride home. I return my attention to her as she continues. Her voice is stronger, but more gentle than ever.

"I guess... that it's harder growing up, but those times aren't exactly gone, you know?" Manny continues, and I'm listening to every word as if they're the last I'll ever hear,"Right now, what's happened, it's far from the perfect day. _So_ far, Darcy. But that doesn't mean the little things don't go unnoticed, because I think they're what count the most right now." I know she wants to say more but keeps silent. She knows it's all I can handle right now. Not in a bad way, but just that I need to take in her words. "Manny?" I murmur quietly, so soft I don't even catch it and for a second I don't think she did, either. "Yeah?" But there she goes again, surprising me.

"Can I come over tomorrow? Just to hang out?" I ask, sounding more fragile than I'd ever want to. I strain to hear something, any form of acknowledgement from her. I hear nothing and I'm about to hastily retract my words before she speaks up again. "I'd like that," Manny answers me, sounding content. We say our goodbyes then, knowing the conversation is over. I fall asleep with my phone still held to my ear, repeating her words in my head.


	4. Before It's Too Late

**A/N:** I was torn between writing a fluffy chapter or an angsty one. Ms. Edwards needs a break sometime.

_And the risk that might break you  
Is the one that would save_

I hesitate at her front door, my shallow breathing on the run here causing mists of vapor in the air that disappear in seconds. Calming down my breathing, I reach out a tentative enclosed fist and knock on the door twice before stepping back and looking down at the 'welcome' mat smudged by misplaced snow and dirt. I suddenly become too aware that my jeans are tattered at the hem, my hair is windswept, and my longsleeve sweater has thread sticking out of my left wrist. Before I can pull the strand away, the door opens and I'm met face to face with Manny. Her cheeks are flushed, and the turtleneck she's wearing accents her body perfectly. Wait, why am I noticing th-

"You look great." My thoughts screech to a halt at her compliment, and I smile nervously as I let her lead me inside. The warm waft of homemade cookies fills the air, and I breathe in deeply at the amazing smell. I hear a chuckle beside me, and Manny looks at me with an amused grin. "Compliments to the chef, yours truly," she smirks proudly, crossing her arms over her chest as I follow her into the small yet cozy space of the kitchen.

A pan of cookies are rested on the counter, and I reach out to touch it before a strong hand shoots out to grab my wrist. I let out a strangled yelp; it's my 'damaged' wrist, and immediately Manny rushes over to me and apologizes. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just didn't want you to get burned because I just took them out and-" I'm not really listening. I'm okay, and I bite down on my lip to stop myself from laughing because Manny truly looks remorseful. I hold up a hand and wave it in front of her face, showing her that no harm was done and that I'm no worse for the wear. She looks slightly embarassed for a second but quickly recovers, shaking her head and gesturing me to follow her into her bedroom.

I've never been to her house before so I make it a point to observe and remember everything while I can. Passing through the hall, my head turns as I see various pictures of a young Manny across the walls. I want to ask why pictures of her from preteen on are missing, only seeing pictures of her as a young child, but somehow it doesn't seem my place to ask. I smile at her youthful face, a particular picture embedded in my mind as Manny leads be forward. It's of her, obviously, probably not a day older than five; a snapshot of a boy giving her an ice cream cone while her face looks anything but pleased, more repulsed than anything. It's too cute, I think, making a mental note to ask her about it sometime later.

Reaching her bed, I lean against the doorframe as I watch her busy herself setting up what she tells me will be a 'movie marathon' of sorts. DVDs messily pile up a corner of the room, a soft lamp giving the room a warm glow as the curtains of her window are draped shut. It's simple but homely, and I see a collage of pictures up on one side of her wall. I move closer, scanning my eyes over pictures of her and the rest of the squad, some of Spinner, many with Emma throughout the years, and some even with baby Jack. And then it happens. My eyes fall over a picture of the two of us.

It's the picture Peter took of us last semester before everything went wrong and the photos were placed online out of my own foolish judgement. My shirt is revealing skin along my shoulder, suggestively leaning into Manny in a pose. To anyone else they'd see girls pretending to be something they're not. I see a joke, the good time we had that afternoon. It goes unnoticed by others, I'm sure, but I even in the still photo I catch the glint in Manny's eyes whenever she's amused or laugh. And then I see me.

I see me posing and enjoying myself, feeling solitary and more alien than ever before. I almost reach out to touch the picture, but don't allow myself to. That girl in the photo shares my eyes, my hair, my body, my smile. The girl in the photo is bright, alive, happy, and free. She goes by the name of Darcy Edwards. I don't see myself in the photo anymore; I see a stranger. And honestly, that scares the living hell out of me.

"We were on our own happy sort of high that day," a voice says to my left, and I turn to see Manny tilting her head at, her eyes glittering with unasked questions. "The first movie is already in, I didn't think you'd be in the mood for anything horror-esque, so I've got a few feel good flicks I like to watch when I'm down." I watch, mesmerized as she falls onto the soft comforters of her bed and snuggles into a nearby pillow while grabbing the remote. Automatically I begin to look around for a chair or cushion, before sweet laughter graces my ears. "You're really something else, Darce." She smiles at me before offering tentatively,"There's space here, you know."

I duck my head in embarassment while moving to rest my body on her bed beside her, slowly letting my weary self relax on the comfortable sheets. I hear familiar music and voices appear as the beginning of the DVD plays, and I close my eyes with a small smirk. "You've watched it before, haven't you?" She's looking at me and I know she knows. I nod into a pillow, assuring myself that all was okay and it was okay for myself to be at ease. "Two lovers who had so much against them, still together until the very end. Classic tale, don't you think?" I murmur an agreement, finding sleep overcoming me with the welcoming light of the lamp and the just right softness of the bed. The voices fade in and out and all I distinctly hear is hers.

I don't really realize what I'm doing until I'm nestled into Manny's shoulder, my head buried in the crook of her neck. She doesn't stiffen but only cautiously drapes an arm around me to bring me closer. I let her know it's okay without telling her, and she knows because she's not cautious anymore. The comfort I get from her is different, but it's welcomed and I'm not sure why. I watch the movie for a while with her, before my eyes lazily droop shut and all I recognize is the warmth of the body beside me.

_"Wherever she is, that's where my home is."_

**A/N:** In my own defense I've never watched The Notebook and stole anything related off Wikipedia. That being said, I should be sleeping but had to get this out... so wake me up with reviews?


	5. Bleed It Out

**A/N:** Ahh, weekdays with homework makes it harder to update.

_Digging deeper  
Just to throw it away_

_Inhale. Exhale. _Cinnamon and vanilla. Ugh, I think my stomach started to digest itself. I'm unaware of my surroundings for a moment before I realize I'm too close for comfort arund a certain cheer coordinator. "Rise and shine... I'd say it's a bright sunny day but then I'd be lying to your face," Manny's voice reaches my ears, and I'm sure if I wasn't blushing before I certainly am now. I can't believe I fell asleep _on her._ She seems to read my mind, speaking up once more. "Jack sleeps on me all the time, it's no big deal," she says, brushing off my embarassment like it's nothing.

I want to comment how different it is when a cute-faced toddler falls asleep on you, not a full grown teen girl who was raised with strict morals. "I prefer you, since you don't seem to drool," Manny adds thoughtfully, and I have to ask myself what hidden innuendo was there. If any, though... maybe I'm just being paranoid. I mutter a note of confirmation before I finally pull away and stretch awkwardly. How long was I out?

The rumbling of my stomach sees to tell me that long enough so that the crackers I had on the way here just wouldn't cut it. I'm sure she heard it too, because the faintest of smirks falls on her lips. "I'm pretty sure those cookies have cooled down by now, so Scout's honor: you and your wrist are safe, I promise," Manny smiles at me, holding up her hand over her chest and making me laugh. She jumps off the bed and stretches her arms over her head, making the shirt she's wearing riding up and I have to notice the slightest revealing of toned skin.

Subconsciously my hand reaches to toy with the silver cross around my neck, my fingers rubbing against the cold metal in a reminder of how others perceive me. I am Darcy Edwards. I'm on Degrassi cheersquad. I go to mass every Sunday. I have a boyfriend named- "Darce?" There she goes again, cutting into my thoughts like a butterknife. "You okay there?" I nod, sliding off the bed to join her into the kitchen.

The smell of cookies has wafted out but I can still almost taste the lingering scent hovering around us. A cookie appears in front of my face and it takes all self control not to lunge at it like a mad animal. "Try it," she pipes up, and I release a hand is attached to said cookie and it wasn't suspended while floating in midair. I take a small bite into the homemade goodness and I swear to God it's the best cookie I've ever eaten. Seriously. I've never had anything homemade. My parents are usually the quick fix microwavable TV dinner-type. It's a wonder I'm not the size of a sumo wrestler, but I guess years of cheer have balanced that out.

Manny tilts her head at me while I savor the taste; I probably look ridiculous but I don't really care. She's amused as she sets the cookie down on the counter, laughing as she tells me I have crumbs on the edge of my mouth. Leaning over she rubs it off of me, brushing her fingers over my lips. I swallow. _Breathe, Darcy._

Suddenly I'm aware of just how close she is. Her face is not even a foot away from mine and I can count every eyelash on her face, every shine that seems to pass through her eyes as I see her mouth curve upwards and I know she wants to say something but can't. I know before she does, before Manny closes her mouth, unable to say whatever it is she wanted to. The light silver cross on my neck feels like lead, dragging me down and forcing down the weight on my throat. I can't breathe. This is way too much. So I do the only thing that makes sense to me at the moment.

I run out the door. I run until my legs protest and my lungs burn, I run so I can't hear her call after me or the mix of fear and confusion she's feeling can reach me. I run and I don't want to stop, because I know as soon as I do I'll regret what I just did.


	6. Behind Those Eyes

**A/N:** This number is dedicated to Kay, 'cause she kept bugging me on MSN to get off my sorry ass and write it. Just goes to show ya that persistance pays off.

_Behind those eyes you lie  
And there's nothing I can say_

When I'm a good three blocks away and I'm sure I don't hear footsteps after me, I slowly drag my protesting feet into a church I've never been into. The cross on my neck feels lighter now, like it should, and I close my fist around it tightly. I don't need to look down to know I'm clutching onto it so firmly my knuckles are turning white. I'm holding it like it's my lifeline. Maybe it is.

My cellphone is vibrating and I'm slightly shaken. She wouldn't call me, I know enough of her to tell. Flipping the phone open, I check and see it's none other than Peter. A stab of guilt tries to unnerve me, but I shake it off as I press 'ignore' and then place it on silent. I'll just say I was out for a jog and didn't feel it. He'd believe me. She wouldn't, though.

I let my hand fall from my necklace to hold the edge of the pews, and I'm now kneeling on the fake leather and pleading my knees won't give way. I bow my head and start internally reciting hymns I've had memorized and drilled into me before I could talk. When it all came down to it, I had my faith. That's what people knew me for, that and my forgiveness.

My shallow breathing is the only sound I hear, I'm pretty sure I'm the only one here. I think back to what I've told Spinner and Peter before. Their sins were forgiven, and all the hard times either of them had to endure were for the greater good in the end. I almost laugh as I feel a wetness stinging the corner of my eyes as I look up to the altar. Could I really believe this now?

"Hypocrite." I murmur quietly to myself. I was the stable one. I was the one to pass on faith of future onto others. Is this what Spinner felt when the school shunned him? My necklace is impossibly nonexistant, I don't feel it at the base of my collarbone anymore. I don't check if it's there; I know it is, but to me there might as well be a chain attached to it. Is this what it feels like?

I concentrate hard and try to think back to that day. I was too drunk to remember anything, but at the same time I remember more than I want to. Flashes attack my mind, and I cry out in pain as I squeeze my eyes shut as voices start to come through.

_He staggered back to his girlfriend, waving a hand through his blond locks. Peter frowned and scrutinized the pair of hands lifting me upright. My eyes were shut; unconscious, he thought. The figure thought, too. I could hear them, but just barely._

Rough hands. Calloused. Too familiar. I didn't notice the opening of the church door as footsteps echoed closer to my spot in the pew.

_"Hey... man, I'll take care of her." Peter said, narrowing his eyebrows as he struggled to walk over to me. The older boy chuckled and tossed a water bottle at him. _

Don't take it. My head hurts and I can't stop it, I'm afraid if I open my eyes I'll pass out in a flurry of colors and memories.

_"I've got it under control, just crash here for a second while I take her to sleep in the bed upstairs," he said smoothly. Peter looked uncertain, but as soon as he took a swig of the tainted water, he turned around and walked away. Walked away from me. There goes my savior._

Oh, God. He wasn't some stranger. My eyes are still closed, the noise of a couple coming closer. I've laughed with him. I've went out with him with friends. We've been in the same room alone together before... Oh, God. I'm going to be sick.

_I'm pulled upstairs, too drunk to protest, and the boy sets me down onto the bed. "You're really pretty," he says, eyes alight and bright. Those eyes. He's not... but... he.._

Those eyes. "Darcy?" No.

_"Darcy..." He promises me. "No one'll ever know..."_

I open my eyes. Manny's staring at my now tear-stained face, stepping closer to painfully slowly like she's afraid to touch me. Scar me. Then I see him. Next to her. His eyes shine with concern, but behind them. Behind them he lies. I know now. This is what it feels like to be hopeless.

_"I'll take care of you, Darcy... I'll be careful..." It's not him. It wouldn't be. _

And then it all turns black.

_Damien...?_


	7. My December

**A/N**: Sincerely sorry for the lack of updating, but I wrote this once without saving and as I was about to upload, the power went out. And I'm bitter about these things so I had to wait a bit until I wanted to write it again. On the plus side, I think it's better than the original version 'cause I completely changed it.

* * *

_This is me pretending  
__This is all I need_

**Manny's POV**

_"Darcy...?" The vision that assaults my eyes is in plain sight. You've turned your head to my call, not answering, looking dead already. Your eyes. There's something different about them and I know what it is now. There's nothing there; it's a drawing with no emotion, a dream without a purpose. Please, no. You can't leave me. "Darcy!" My voice is stronger now, rushing to your side. You can't leave._

I haven't left your side. I carried you home myself, telling Damien to phone Peter and tell him what happened. It must have been a mix of fatigue and stress, but I can't help but wonder why you had to look at me like that before you passed out. Frightened. Of _me_. Why? You're back on my bed, your eyes shut as I watch your body rise and fall with every breath. My hand is holding yours, and I search for a pulse. Anything to tell me you're still here.

_I fall to my knees and rush to press a towel on the deepest part of the wound, feeling dizzy as I see the pure white stain into a crimson red. A whimper cuts through the air as sharply as the blade sitting beside you, sitting motionless and taunting me with its piercing silver glare. I don't think I've ever seen so much blood, the bright color slicing through my vision as I struggle to keep calm. I see your eyes flutter shut, and a whine of panic surges through me. It's selfish, but all I can think is how much _I _need you here: laughing with me, taunting when I purposely do something stupid, teaching me how to have faith when the world falls apart at the seams. _

You scared me. When you ran I couldn't find where you were, so I called Damien to help me look for you. He didn't seem to be too eager to spend his time on a Saturday to help look for a friend of mine that he's maybe spoken to a handful of times at most, but I didn't care. It's not you to just run away from _me_. I'm not stupid; I know I'm the only one you haven't completely shut out. You show it in the smallest ways but I notice. I have to notice. It's you, after all. You shift in your sleep, clutching the pillow with your able hand as what you call your 'defected' one lays limply in mine. I trace delicate circles along the blinding-white bandage that must have been changed earlier today, and I'm surprised even in sleep you don't flinch at the touch.

_Your breathing is slow and shallow, uneven and quickening the pace of my heartbeat as I worry if I'll ever have a chance to spend another day with you. I press down harder, watching the blood soak through the towel and coat my hands. I shudder at how warm the liquid is, and how much of it there is. My throat is closing tightly, and I know I have to force myself to continue. I have to be the strong one here, no matter how much the thought of losing you is deteriorating my body at the second. I need to pull myself together, I tell myself urgently, feeling adrenaline rush through my veins as I press down again with the dampened cloth. I won't lose you._

My knees are starting to hurt from the time I've been kneeling on the ground, so I gently set aside your hand and move over to lie next to you in bed. I don't dare touch you; I can't see your eyes, and usually it's because of them that I can tell whether or not you give your consent. I take the time to watch you, trying to memorize how peaceful you look and how long it'll be until I see that again. The pit of my stomach feels hollow because I can't remember the last time I saw your eyes light up, the last time your nose scrunched in a blissful laugh. I close my eyes for a moment, letting weary eyes rest because I haven't stopped looking after you. It's not a burden, and it's not something I'm going to be tired of doing. You take your time healing, I'll be here every time.

_"Hold this, press. I'm calling 911," I tell you, silently pleading with my eyes to follow through. A pale hand moves to press the towel against your wrist, letting me take out my cell phone and deliver the call. I close it shut once I'm done with my frantic message, falling back down to you and watching you struggle to keep your eyes open. I let your bloodstained hand rest, pressing down again with fervor and then wipe away more before I pull back the towel. I swallow, seeing a messily cut "W-h-y-?" spelled out across your vein, before the injury springs to life and coats my hands with sticky wetness. I begin to hate the color._

I can't place why I have the need to protect you more than the average friend. Emma, Spinner, Peter- they all play their assumed roles as it's unwritten lines tell them exactly what to do. I don't know why you let me in but not Peter, and I definitely can't begin to explain why I overly encourage Peter to be with you. Maybe it's because this isn't my role to play. It's a lover's role to nurture and heal, to cover old wounds and hold her hand as she struggles to stand back up on her own two feet again. It's _his_ role. Why don't you understand that? I'm playing with a loose strand of your hair that's fallen over your face, and for a moment I think I'll tuck it behind your ear... but then I decide you look better natural.

_Every second feels like forever, and I count every single drop of water from the showerhead on your hair before the paramedics arrive. It kills me that just now I realize you're so, incredibly beautiful, and how I notice it at the worst possible time. I don't know if you can hear me, but I brush a lock of hair away from your ear and whisper that I love you, that I need you here, and you can't die. I don't know if you can hear me when you close your eyes and don't open them again. I'm worrying that your systems are slowly shutting down with the loss of blood, but as I feel you try to place a hand ontop my own, I know you heard me._

Her eyes are opening.

_The paramedics are here._

She looks at me and I lower my head, ashamed.

_I'm not listening as they tell me not to follow, that it could get messy._

The look in her eyes are apologetic, telling me it wasn't my fault.

_I have to be there, holding her hand and assuring her._

I try to nod but I find it difficult, her hand draped itself on my waist.

_She's squeezing tight, like I'm her lifeline. I squeeze back, letting her know it's okay if I am._

She's so vulnerable right now, and the fact she's sharing it with me means so much. _Too_ much.

_The paramedics are saying something but I can't hear, she's trying to say something._

It doesn't cross my mind that right now Peter should be here, not me. But I'm glad it's me.

_Her lips can't find words, and I choke back tears when I realize what the paramedics said._

Her voice floats in and I turn to look at her, letting her speak.

_"She'll make it."_

"_We'll _make it."


	8. Breathe

**A/N**: I'm baaack. Its finals week, too, so when I finish my tests I'll have lots of spare time to make up for the lack of updates.

* * *

_Breathe for love tomorrow  
Cause there's no hope for today _

There's something in her eyes I can't place, but it's making my chest constrict as I'm sure my heartbeat slows down to a steady pace. I'm not sure when this happened, but her hand is in mine and the comforting trace of circles along my skin sends a shudder down my spine. My throat squeezes tightly; maybe I shouldn't have said that. It stirred up something in her, the tightening in her jaw and tensing of her body only giving it away just barely. Releasing a shaky breath, I look down at the patterned comforter. Speaking to it, I manage to murmur a low apology. At this, her head snaps back up and she looks almost incredulous. "What? Why?" I don't answer.

"Do you love him?" I ask abruptly, my intense gaze a little too fierce for her. I want to know what those hazelnut eyes are reflecting. I want to read her like anyone else. "Who, Damien?" her head tilts to the side in question,"We haven't been together long, and he and I don't really have all that much in common." Manny's face softens and she looks at me with a wistful stare. "I wish I could," she says seriously. Somehow I think she meant two things at once, but I really don't want to think about what that means.

I wrap my arms around myself, feeling cold as the icy numbness of my fingers pricks with the warmth of her fingers playing with mine. The familiar sensation of her eyes on me is suddenly interrupted at a soft knock on the door. _He_ comes in before Manny can stand up from her edge of the bed to answer. "Your mom's on the phone, Manny, she wants to know what to get at the grocery store," he says pleasantly, voice as smooth as velvet as he spares me a quick glance. My face becomes stoic, my entire body rigid. This never passes by her, and she looks at me uncertainly. I almost forget for a second that she has no reason to be wary, and I try relaxing my body a bit before she leaves the room unwillingly.

She leaves the door open. He leans against her dresser and observes me with polite interest. Biting down at the edge of my cheeks, I'm concentrated at the sharp bit of pain at my nails digging forcefully into my palm. Unfortunately this doesn't go unnoticed by him, and he raises an eyebrow questioningly. "Darcy Edwards," Damien murmurs thoughtfully,"You gave us quite a scare." His toothy smile makes bile rise up in my throat, and I struggle to keep it down. "I'm sorry to hear that, it wasn't intentional," I reply just as evenly, the scratchy edge to my voice just as painfully obvious to me as it is to him. His grin widens. "You should really take care of that," he advises with faux concern; what an actor, I have to admit.

He strides to my part of the bed in a few long strides, carrying himself with a swagger of delicate importance. A burning finger tips up my chin, and the scorching burn of my skin makes me wince before I can mask it. "I know you remember," he tells me with that same silk tone. I can't swallow. I feel my face drain with color, and a dizzy air replaces any bit of self control I had. "I don't know what you're talking about," I answer shortly, fear evident as my hand grasps at the bandage on my other wrist. "No one would believe you, Darcy," he mutters too close to my face, a hot breath overcoming my senses. He steps back and adjusts his shirt down, that same grin on his face. I concentrate on not passing out again. I can't look at him.

My head whips up so fast at a soft body unconsciously placing itself between me and him. "I've got an English essay to do, I'll call you tonight?" his eyes widen in earnest at her, an entirely new person forming. "I might be busy," Manny pauses,"Maybe another day." His disappointment is quickly replaced with coolness, leaning in to kiss her. She hesitates and I feel her eyes flicker down, maybe towards me if they could, as she ducks her head and he catches air. "I'll see you later, then," he says confidently, then throws me a swift look,"Get well, Darcy." The door closes again and I feel my eyes unfocus. I close them, focusing to ignore the building of tears. I whisper quietly, brokenly.

"Bye, Damien."

I hope she didn't hear.


	9. Emergency

**A/N**: Now what fun is there with a two-dimensional role? None. Everyone has a story to tell sometime. This chapter was, in particular, difficult for me to write in many ways. It's not really for the faint of stomach, either. You've been warned.

* * *

_These scars, they will not fade away  
No one cares to talk about it, talk about it  
_

**Ch. 9**

_"Thanks for doing this, Daniel," the taller man of the two said gruffly, voice thick with emotion,"I really don't want him to see home until my mother's out of the hospital." The shorter, stockier man gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, attempting sympathy. "I know, take your time," he nodded gravely, looking down at the small outline of a boy hiding behind his friend's leg,"I'll take good care of the little man." He bent down on his knees, taking time to look the frightened child in the eyes. "Hey there, son, you'll be staying at my house for a little bit, okay?" Daniel said gently. The man nudged the boy forward, encouraging him. Slowly and cautiously, he stepped out of his only line of defense and looked up at the man. He could almost feel as if they were exchanging ownership, from father to stranger._

That explained why the boy was sitting on a too-comfortable sofa with his feet dangling over the edge. His curiousity had gotten the better hand of him, taking time to look around the house in the last half hour. But that was over now, an uneasy settling of unfamiliarity settling into the bottom of his stomach. His dad had seemed to know the man, so that immediately put him in a position of trust. Just like how he wasn't allowed to ride his bike without training wheels for another year, his father never put him in danger if he could help it. "Uncle" Danny, as he told him to refer to him by, was very generous. He took him to McDonalds for dinner and didn't even get mad when he scraped his knee in the ball pit. He didn't quite know where Uncle Danny was now, though; as soon as they got to his apartment he told the boy to look around while he did "business" upstairs.

Outlining the bandage through the knee of his jeans with a tiny finger, his head snapped up to the stairs as Danny made his way down. There was something odd in his step, a concentrated struggle not to sway or slip, but the child hadn't noticed. Danny stopped and dropped to his knees in front of him like he had earlier that day, focusing his eyes onto a set of innocent brown ones. He wrinkled his nose with the bothersome odor emitting from him; Uncle Danny smelled of that wine in church he wasn't allowed to drink during Mass. It was a troubling smell, and subconsciously he scooted backwards into he sofa. With narrowed eyes, the man noticed and pulled him back forward. "That's not nice, I haven't hurt ya, son," Daniel murmured. Words of protest began at the back of his throat, but the boy didn't speak.

His grip on his arm was far too tight, and he let out a whimper. "It hurts," he bowed his head, hoping he would let go. Daniel relaxed his grip, then guided the boy's hand along the front of his jeans. His eyes widened; he didn't understand, what was going on? "We're gonna play a game, kid," said Daniel softly, letting small fingers brush against his waistband, then to cold brass buttons. Brown eyes looked frantically into the man's deep green, but they were even more of a stranger's than before. He seemed to sense the boy's hesitant thoughts, and gave him a stern gaze. "Do you want me to tell your dad you were misbehaving?" He shook his head, upset at the thought. "That's right."

In a swift, fluid movement he unbottoned his jeans and let them fall to the floor. The boy clenched his jaw as his hand was guided down into the slit of the man's boxers. Shutting his eyes so he wouldn't have to watch, it was like every other sense was heightened. The heavy smell of wine hazing the air around them, swirling and causing his stomach to lurch forewarningly. The feel of rough material of cloth before the contact of pulsating skin. A dry taste in his mouth making it hard to swallow, hard to talk, impossible to scream. And lastly, the sound of groaning that most certainly wasn't his. Time lapsed, he wasn't sure how long this torture lasted. But it was enough to make it permanently etched into his memory. "Open your eyes," he growled lowly, and he only complied when his hands were allowed back at his sides.

He looked the same, but now staring at him with something different planned. When _his_ hands leaned into the boy's lower abdomen, he recoiled against the couch and let out a cry of fear. The break of silence in him seemed to disturb Daniel, and his eyes hardened as he threw a fist into his stomach. An added sound of pain fueled his anger, again and again striking the boy until he learned not to shout out with every blow. "Shut up, shut _up!_" he roared, his next kick harder than intended as the boy fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. The trembling of his body as his face hit the floor with a sickening crunch was enough for him to learn his lesson; no outburst came from his lips. Instead, ragged breathing as he struggled to compose himself, doubled over at the bruising of his ribs.

"Your turn."

He wasn't done yet.

---

Damien Hayes tossed and turned in his sleep, shaking feverishly as his nightmare, his memory, his reality, overcame him.


	10. How Does It Feel?

**A/N:** Pfft. I'm alive and kickin', and back with an update.

* * *

__

How does it feel?  
Cause it's tearing me apart

**Ch. 10**

I've been in my room for sixteen hours and seven minutes.

I'm somewhat hungry, not having the motivation to stand and go to the kitchen. The kitchen brings scrutinizing stares, an analytical question to be proposed on lips that I really don't want to hear. A vibration buzzes beneath my pillow yet again, and that's the seventh missed call from Manny I've had since I left her house. The battery's dying and charging it is useless if I'm going to be stuck here until school tomorrow morning. I could call Peter, but I know it'd phase into a discussion (mainly me listening and him talking) about how he wants to be there for me. There's another thing he wants to say but he never does; it doesn't really matter because I can see it in his eyes. He wants to know why I talk to Manny and barely at all to him. It's nothing but genuine confusion and slight hurt, but even that makes my stomach lurch uncomfortably in guilt.

My cell phone starts buzzing again, signaling another incoming call.

A soft sigh escapes parted lips, and I force myself off my bed and pry open the doorknob. I twist it carefully, minding all the familiar creaks it makes that always hindered any chance of escape as a child. I hear no sound; I'm sure the sister has a Girl Scout meeting, and my dad's at the firm, per usual. Mom… I never know where she is anymore, but she never fails to show up for Sunday mass. It's past ten, in fact it's two in the afternoon. Refusing to drag me by force to mass is unusual for her, but it's not as if I'm ungrateful for it. My faith is slowly falling out of my grasp; compare it to holding sand in your hand. As much as you try, bits and pieces will continue to seep out from your fingers until it's gone, and all that's left is a dusty remainder of a rough texture on your skin.

Skipping past the bottom step of the stairs that makes the loudest creak imaginable, I stub my toe on a toy car from one of the church kids down the street who like coming over once a week to 'play'. I bite down on my lip, determined not to make any noise; at least, until my back connects with the wall in a _thump_. Wincing, I wait for the sound of hurried clicks of heels against wood, a reprimand to be more careful next time. Seconds pass. I hear nothing. No… I _do_.

Whispers I can't identify with words, they're more like urgent hisses, and the sound a shirt makes when you wave it around to get rid of all the creases before slipping it on. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I make the stupid mistake of stepping into my father's office area of the house. No sound leaves my lips, why would it? What's there to say?

A man I've never seen before is trying to put back on his tie unsuccessfully, the collar of his dress shirt popped up for the time being. The contrast of white on red lipstick is striking, burning into my eyelids. My mom is right beside him. He stares at me, looking wordlessly from me to the woman that gave birth to me. It's easy to connect the dots… I have her eyes, after all. "Darcy?" the stranger begins, and I'm not talking about the man.

Suddenly feeling a flare of anger rise up in my chest momentarily, I stop thinking about whatever it is I was considering saying. _Fury._ That was new, to say at the least. I shake my head back and forth, feeling nauseous. "_Darcy,_" she repeats again, firmer this time. A tone of authority, of respect. I almost feel like laughing. Almost. She starts walking towards me and I instinctively take more than a few steps backwards. Not just because of how I've been, but because I don't _know_ her anymore. As irrational as it was, who was to say what she'd do to me? My mother has never been a violent person, but I don't know this woman. My rage has been replaced by fear, a familiar feeling this time around. She doesn't belong in my home. Her leaving is out of the option and I'm not near confident enough to stay in the house anymore. More than anything, I wish I had carried my cell phone with my downstairs. I couldn't go back up and get anything now.

I turn on my heel and run as fast as I can to the doorway, throwing on shoes of mine that are too tight and pushing myself past the door in a sprint. My hand catches on a thorn from the clump of roses the gardener was ordered to place near the gate, and it catches my injured hand. The bandage rips off easily, but I don't care. I see safety eight feet away.

I really don't know what _she's_ doing here, especially when I must not have answered another two or three calls while I was downstairs. The door to her dad's car is open, and I practically jump in and throw on my seatbelt. Her puzzled expression at my panicked and frenzied state can't be merited an explanation, not now. "Darcy?"

The question and how it's delivered is painfully reminiscent.

"Don't call me that!" I seethe, surprising myself with my tone. Why am I angry all of a sudden? I'm sure my eyes are apologetic but I direct my gaze to the dashboard, flickering my eyes back down to the black leather seat. "Just drive," I plead, softer this time, "I don't care where, just drive."

She listens, but not before placing a hand ontop my own as she pulls out of the street with one hand. It remains that way the entire car ride.

Solace greets me warmly.


	11. Collide

A/N: All I have to say, is thank you for those of you sticking with me. You guys are the best, really.

_I found I'm scared to know  
I'm always on your mind_

I would've thought she'd take the time to drive out of the city, there was a gentle determined look on her face that I hadn't noticed in awhile, making various turns without even stopping to check street names, giving me the impression wherever we were going, it was somewhere she went often. There's a band I don't recognize on the radio, and the soft noise in the background calms my heartbeat as I lean back in my seat and resign my tense shoulders; as soon as I do so, her hand lightly squeezes mine. I turn, her eyes are focused on the road. She pulls into a vacant lot of an even more desolate remnant of a park; I try to see what she sees before her hand leaves mine as she wordlessly parks and walks to the still green grass.

If I could, I'd ask her what she sees, what possibly pulled her to this lost child's dream of a playground, out of all the places we could've gone instead. I'm far from complaining, I just wanted to get _away,_ but I can't help but wonder where _she_ wanted to run_ to._ But I can't voice any of these things, so I just follow behind.

Once Manny reaches a dome-shaped jungle gym she turns around to face me, most of the - from what I'm sure, previously bright and vivid - red paint scratched and worn off throughout the years, the cold metallic bars looking nothing close to comfortable. Her silent question makes me shake my head in response almost immediately; I hate heights, even of the little kid variety. I'm sure she's about to say, "I won't let you fall" like anyone else would - but she? She purses her lips and runs a hand through her hair before replying.

"It's gonna hurt if you fall. Everything worthwhile does, but that's why you try."

It's that, if anything else, that makes me take my first step onto the structure, hoisting myself up and taking my time up; Manny scales it with ease, like really anyone else should be able to do, but she keeps her unspoken promise and watches my every move into ascent, and soon my legs are tucked to my chest with my arms wrapped around them. When I face her, I shake my bangs out of my eyes so I can see her properly, or maybe I'm letting her see me. I want to ask. I could, maybe, but would is another question. It's terrifying to have your control taken from you, but I think here, _now,_ is one of those moments where having control of your every action is even more terrifying.

"My dad..." Manny trails off, clearing her throat before continuing, and I sharply take into note every waver of her tone; she hardly ever mentions her home life, and there are whispers, whispers in school corridors that never fully fade. "My dad used to take me here when I was little. He never let me climb up, he said he was too scared I'd fall and hurt myself." She laughs quietly at this, and it's one of those laughs, I think, that hurts more than it frees. "So I'd just make sure he wouldn't see whenever his back was turned, but one day he turned around and I was so surprised at someone _seeing_ me, I fell," a beat of a pause, and I can feel the corners of her lips turn up in a wry smile, "Stay with me here, Darce, my reminiscing has a moral."

I want to nod but all that's running through my head is that she called me Darce, and though she has before it just strikes me now that it's different from how Spinner_ ever _said it.

"Anyway," she carries on, and the amused look has faded from her soft features, "the whole point of the story isn't about a nine year old needing a cast 'cause she didn't listen to her dad. I never even_ thought_ about falling until he saw me, and I realized it's easier, _so much easier,_ to take the risk when no one's around to watch." I can't even tell where she's getting at, because no one's been around here for years, I'm sure, but she's here with me, and her eyes on me means more than a hundred. She notices though, always seems to be able to notice the barest flicker of confusion in my slightly furrowed brow, and she answers me without speaking.

She closes her eyes. My breath hitches. And she's said a million things just by the fluttering of her eyelids.

I could do anything now, and Manny knows that. I could slip and break my neck, or trace the jagged cuts in my wrist with my nails. Those are the things everyone else worries about, would worry about if they were here with me, and they wouldn't take their eyes off me in their watch. Loving, but careful. Cautious. And somehow, in the middle of a child's playground, Manny manages to untie the constraining ropes and make the simplest task like climbing a jungle gym feel like I'm scaling Mount Everest. I could do anything. My head spins with scenario after scenario, and it's only when I release my hold from my knees and turn my body to face her, that my mind freezes but the rest of me feels ignited.

I could kiss her.

The thought is alien and comforting at the same time, thrilling but the most horrible idea ever, because that's not me. That thought, those four words that had just so easily slipped into my mind like the rise and fall of my lungs receiving oxygen, it's unwelcome. But it stays anyway, unrepentant and glaringly proud in all display. It's different, more different than I could ever learn to accept within myself, but the dark brown eyes hidden right now make me want to - _No. _I swallow painfully, shutting down the thought in its tracks.

I don't do much, to be honest. My hand speaks for me as I cup her cheek, letting my thumb brush against soft skin. It warms under my touch, a slight flush of the faintest pink on lightly tanned skin. My heartbeat picks up, not mocking me, _encouraging_ me. I barely notice it either way, but her eyes are still closed and I don't know any other way to get my message across. "Open your eyes," I request, and it shocks me just as much her at how firm my voice is. How sure I_ really _am.

"I _want _you to see me."

Her eyes open and Manny exhales a shaky breath. "Okay," she says, and my heart doesn't fail to keep stuttering. She catches my hand and holds it there, her hand around mine.

We stay like that until nightfall, looking at each other like our eyes are daring us but our bodies don't dare betray us.


End file.
